


Golden Sun

by Albione



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Eventual Romance, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Political Intrigue, Slavery, War, will add tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albione/pseuds/Albione
Summary: Oliver has a mission and needs no distractions, but when he sees a young man being sold, whose attitude reminds him of the past, he impulsively buys him. Elio wants to survive, even if he knows there is little to go back to. They are both pawns in a large game, that stretches from England to the Ottoman Empire, and what they both have in common is the determination to win the game and gain freedom.





	1. The Unruly Slave

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote part of a novel based in this time frame, and I thought that Oliver and Elio would fit in it quite nicely. I have a pile of bibliography that I can use, but if anybody sees something I got wrong (especially Turkish or the honorific titles, saint Google helped me with those) please let me know.   
> The world described is harsh and terrible; you had to be clever and ruthless to survive so you are warned for what has happened and will happen to Oliver and Elio (or Altin and Gunes), but I will give warnings each chapter.   
> There will be many historical figures that I will treat abominably, I would give information in the notes, but then the notes would be longer than the chapters; please ask if interested in knowing more. It is a slooooow burn, but it will be the smuttiest thing I have ever written; it will be also a slow output, but I hope to publish a chapter a week as well as Coda.   
> Altin = Golden; Gunes = Sun; Terjuman = is an official interpreter or translator; Mutasib = market official; effendi = a curtesy title to a high class individual.  
> Please leave a comment, I need suggestions!

Constantinople November 1532

The square was bustling, the slave market would soon start, the podium had been erected; the rumour was that most of the new stock came from Beylerbey’s victories over Admiral Doria.   
There were many agents for the Genovese merchants, probably hoping to find familiars or men from families that would pay a ransom.   
Oliver sat on his horse looked over the people trying the push to the front, for once he was not the centre of attention, and he liked the feeling.   
He was dressed in black, from his turban to his boots, the only colour being the slight silver threads on his caftan and his startling blue eyes; hedge sparrow egg blue Mahmud had described them long ago. He wondered if he was interested in watching the poor souls sold as cattle, standing naked and prodded, their spirit broken during the long voyage. He knew too well how it felt to be on the podium, he shrugged, the chance of picking up some gossip was too good to be missed.

“Altin Terjuman, how rare to see you here, thinking to add to your household? There are some exquisite boys on offer today…” The man looking up to Oliver was fat with a pockmarked face; his smile was as hollow as a silver ducat.   
Oliver smiled “Greetings Selim Mutasib, I see that it is a busy day. I really do not need adding to my household, but I shall enjoy the show.”  
He turned his head and saw that the first slaves were being taken to the podium. Hunched shoulders, eyes to the ground, men ground by defeat and humiliation; there would be much more humiliation to come.   
Oliver clasped his reins, it was not a good idea to visit the slave market he thought; years might have passed, but some things remain raw.

As he was turning his horse he noticed a boy at the end of the line; he was the only one that kept his shoulders straight.  
It reminded him of a boy long ago, the same way of looking straight ahead and trying to block the noise and lewd comments.   
He was tall and slim, long limbs and curly dark hair, Spanish probably; he certainly did not need a Spaniard in his household. But he could not take his eyes off the boy; he was not trying to cover his nakedness, the marks of lashes on his skin proclaimed he was trouble, many would be tempted in trying to subdue such a fine boy.   
Oliver feared that he could be one of them.

“The next lot is this fine healthy young boy from the Doria fleet, good teeth and no illness or blemishes.” The auctioneer pulled the boy and turned him; his back was crossed with red welts but he had fine buttocks, firm and round.   
Hands reached to the sky as offers increased, Oliver followed it closely; the boy just stood straight and still. None of the Genovese agents were bidding; he must be some unfortunate deck-hand, even if he did not look it.   
The slim build, delicate features and rounded lips were prized features for pleasure slaves. 

“85,000 akçe” The market square was silenced by the offer.  
The auctioneer looked at Oliver with his mouth open; he gulped and hopefully looked at the crowd for a higher offer, but knew that it would not happen. “Gone to the Effendi on the horse at the back for 85,000 akçe!”  
There was a buzz among the crowd, the boy suddenly was the most expensive slave sold for a long time; only the Circassian girl sold some years ago had made more, and she was Roxelana.  
Oliver made a gesture to one of the trader’s scribes that scuttled to him.   
“I shall return with my household to pay and collect, make sure that the goods are not damaged in the meantime. No whipping, tie him if he is unreasonable, but no more marks on him, understood?”  
The man nodded and Oliver rode back to his house, troubled by his uncharacteristic action.

Elio sat hunched in the small holding cell; the last few months had been unbearable, but he feared that worse was to come.   
He felt cold and his back hurt, the chains tying his ankles chaffed the sore skin. At least a rough wool robe had been thrown over him; standing straight while naked in front of the crowd had taken the last fragment of energy he had.   
Joining the ship had seemed such a good idea last summer; entering the Doria household was the only option he had had, a way to re-invent himself, but accepting the offer to follow Giuliano on board the warship was not one of his best decisions. He supposed Giuliano had been ransomed.   
“Elio I need you near me, please follow me and we will make our names in battle!” How he wanted to believe him, he would have followed him through hell, and he did. 

Thinking of the naval battle made Elio shudder, the blood, the gun smoke, the cries of men slaughtered. He was frozen and could not do anything; he was ashamed of how useless he had been when needed.   
He only picked up his pride when prisoner, and each time he was punished for not obeying he felt he deserved it. Each time the whip opened his back he felt he was paying for having been a coward and letting Giuliano down.

And now, in this frightening city he had been bought by the strange man on horseback, such a large man, he had noticed him while waiting to go on the podium; he looked European and was clean shaven, but his interactions showed he was one of the infidels; he must be a renegade, and there was nothing worse than a renegade.

As the cell door opened Elio sat straight, he would not show weakness, never again would he hide, fear itself was the enemy.  
The large man dressed in black was talking to the merchant, he turned to look at Elio and with a nod ordered to remove Elio’s robe.   
He looked at the naked boy to check if there were any added marks on him, and satisfied that the lashes were old ones, handed Elio a caftan for him to wear.   
At the door of the shop there was a table where a pile of silver coins were being counted; “So that is my value” Elio thought, a pile of coins on a table. As they stopped counting they said something and nodded. The large man looked directly at Elio and said “Espaniol?”   
Elio was startled by how blue the man’s eyes were, he had never seen such a shade; the man repeated his question and Elio could feel his impatience. “Genoese” he replied in Spanish.  
“So from one of Doria’s ships” the man replied in Italian, “come on, I am not taking off your shackles till we are home; you seem to be a bolter.”   
Elio was pushed into a small covered cart and during the journey he wondered how come the man spoke Spanish and Italian. Who was he?

He peeked from the drapes that covered the sides of the cart, it was getting dark and there were few people walking around; they seemed normal, if dressed differently, shopkeepers, children playing, just like back home, but the buildings were alien, but he was alien in this city.   
They stopped in front of a large square house, no lights from the small grated windows, it looked like a fortress, the large doors opened and they entered into a large potico.

Oliver pulled Elio out of the cart “You are home now boy, what was your name?”  
“Elio! Elio Catalano” He said his name with pride, it was the only thing left to him.  
“So you are in some way Spanish, or Catalan, I knew it! Elio, the sun, a good name, but you have no use for it now, you shall be Gunes from this moment onwards. Forget Elio, he died the minute you were offered in the market place, you are now Gunes and let us see what use you can be to me, you cost enough.”   
Oliver studied Elio closely, trying to read the boy’s expression.  
Elio pulled the caftan closer to his body, he had known that things would only get worse, but losing his name as well as all the rest was the last blow; he felt like crying for the first time since his mother died, the same feeling of total helplessness.  
With an effort he kept the tears back, the man in front of him terrified him, but he felt that he was being judged and it was the most important exam in his life.   
He looked up straight into Oliver’s eyes, if as a slave he would be punished for it did not matter; name or no name, he was still the same person that set sail last summer.   
He needed to remember that.

“My brain can be useful, I can read and write in Italian, Spanish, French and Latin, my penmanship is fine and I can count. I also play the lute, have a fine singing voice and know some medicine preparations.”   
Oliver laughed “That is a lot in the brain of such a pretty face.” He looked at Elio, noticing his green and hazel eyes and his expression softened.   
“If you can learn more languages fast you will be useful to yourself as to me. Tomorrow we shall see if you have the talent and the attitude to learn. Selim, please take him and clean him and his wounds; you can unshackle him. Bring him to me tomorrow after morning prayer.”  
An older man appeared and bowed to Oliver and took Elio by the arm and guided him under the portico and towards a staircase.

Oliver stood looking till Elio, or Gunes, disappeared from view.   
He sighed, he was sure he had taken the most irresponsible action in his lifetime.   
And his life was a series of irresponsible decisions; his luck would run out soon.


	2. The Willing Student

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio starts his life within Oliver’s household and starts Turkish lessons. He is none the wiser why he was bought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just exposition, sorry! I am finding it hard work, but it is good to practice, maybe less good to inflict it onto others… Next chapter we start the intrigue…

Elio was taken to a room all marble and tiles; it was warm and smells of strange fragrances. A young man appears and takes off Elio’s caftan, he tries to hold on to it, but he is again naked in the centre of the room.  
“I suppose I have to get used to being naked” it is not a reassuring though.  
The young man is beautiful, big brown eyes and dark amber skin; he looks at Elio as though he is something vile and throws a pail of water over him.  
Elio gasps, and when the man starts to rub him hard with a sponge he tries to move away, but he held by the wrist tightly.   
As the sponge rubs over the welts on his back he cries out in pain; the older man tells something to the younger, who just shrugs and continues to rub Elio’s back hard.  
After Elio is dried his back is rubbed with some sort of pungent ointment. The old man hands him a wool robe and he is escorted to a small cell with a straw mattress and left.   
Elio sits on the mattress and realises it is the most comfy bed he has had for years; the cell is clean with a small grated window, again, he has been in much worse places even before being captured.   
He falls into a dreamless sleep.

Roses, so many roses; red, white and yellow, the scent is strong. The climb up a brick wall and hide the timbers of a building. The child feels a petal and smiles as a hand caresses his head.  
The call to prayer of the Muezzin wakes Oliver; he just remembers the scent of roses.   
He gets out of bed and Selim is waiting with the water for the ablutions and to dress him.  
Oliver kneels to the ground, forehead touching the ground, but he is not thinking of the prayers he utters. “I have planted so many roses in the garden, but they are not the same, they never will be.”   
The pain and longing never disappears, so many small things bring back to the surface the pain, Oliver is a master in dissimulation, but it costs him dear.

Elio is woken by the lament of the Muezzin; the sound just goes on without interruption.   
He had heard it in the various places he had been kept, but it seems so near now, just outside the window. He wonders what it means.   
The elderly man from the previous night enters his room and hands him clothes, white baggy trousers and shirt and a pair of leather slippers. “At least I am not naked for once” Elio thinks and smiles for the first time in months.   
The man indicates to follow him, not knowing the language is so frustrating “I wonder if the offer to learn is true. I cannot hold hope in trusting the renegade.”   
But there is a small flash of hope.  
He is taken to a busy kitchen and Selim introduces him to the household; Elio just understands “Gunes”, his new name.   
Sitting at the table there are a few women, their hair covered by coloured scarves and the young man that bathed him the previous night. He says something and the others laugh, Elio knows they are laughing at him; they all observe him while he is eating as though he is some exotic animal.   
He ignores them, he is hungry, the food served is similar to that from home, but in different combinations. The flat bread, olives and cucumbers, boiled eggs and honey, he eats it all, but the taste of the hot dark drink is bitter, he tries to ask for water.

As the others finish eating they all leave and Elio looks around. The kitchen is large, two large brick stoves and an enormous fireplace, brass pots hanging from the walls and fine majolica vessels stacked on sideboards. It is a rich home, not extravagant, but all the staff seems well fed and looked after.   
There are two cooks and a young boy working, they pay no attention to Elio; a large form of meat is being slowly turned in the fireplace, vegetables being cut and strange smells emanating from the pots on the stoves. Elio just sits, looking at everything and wondering what are all the unknown ingredients.  
A younger man comes for him, he is in his forties, high bridged nose and round sleepy dark eyes that are sharper that they look.   
The walk through corridors into a smaller courtyard with a fountain in the middle and the renegade is waiting for them. He is dressed in a simple dark blue long robe and his hair is golden in the morning light.   
“Good morning Gunes, let us pick your brains and see if you are worth the coins I paid”  
His Italian has a strange accent that Elio cannot place, he wonders if the height and blondness means he is from the German part of the Holy Empire.   
“I hope that I am worthy of the investment sir.” Elio bows and Oliver smiles, the unruly slave has manners. 

They enter a light room with filled wooden bookcases all around and small tables and floor cushions.   
Oliver sits and gestures Elio to do the same. “Let us see your knowledge of languages and penmanship. I shall speak in French and you will transcribe it in Spanish, can you do it?”  
Elio smiles as he picks up the quill and dips it into the inkwell; he did that with his grandfather as a game. How much he missed him, he taught him all he knows.   
Oliver starts slowly talking about the history of Rome, but then talks faster and uses more complex words; Elio keeps up.   
When Oliver suddenly switches into Latin Elio looks up “Do I still transcribe into Spanish sir?”   
“Yes, I will tell you when you need to change language”  
Elio nods and continues to follow the dictation till Oliver stops and picks one of the pages. He reads it intently nodding. “You have a very good penmanship while writing quickly, some minor mistakes in spelling that can be corrected. You are good in translating, hopefully you will be fast in learning Turkish, Ertan will tutor you, he speaks Latin.”   
Oliver gestured to the man that accompanied Elio to the library and Elio turned to the man and lowering his head said “Gratias tibi”; the man smiled and continued to place books back into the shelves.   
“You also told me that you can play the lute, I do not have the European instrument here, but there is the oud; play me something.” Oliver pointed to a short necked lute type instrument and Elio fetched it.   
Sitting crossed legged he observed it, plucking some of the cords to get a feel of the tone; as soon as he thought he understood the instrument, he started to play a tune that he learnt long ago when he had a home. It was sad music, a lament of things lost, his mother told him that it came from Spain, where she was born.   
As he was finishing the meolody he looked up, both men were listening, Ertan with his eyes closed while the renegade was staring at him with a cold expression; Elio nearly missed a note, but looked down and elongated the end almost to a lament.

“Yes, you have talent, I could sell you on to the palace as a musician, I could get my money back and then some” Oliver’s voice was flat and Elio wondered what he had done wrong.   
Oliver got up and without looking at Elio moves towards the door. “Ertan, you can start the lessons. I have things to do today. Let me know how he does.” Elio again wishes he could understand what was said; he will be a willing student.

The next weeks pass quietly, Elio wakes with the call of the muezzin, he has his meals with the other servants, mornings are dedicated to his Turkish lessons and in the afternoons he practices on his own or follows Selim trying to converse while helping out in the household.   
The older man is very patient with Elio and the only friendly person apart from the kitchen boy, Mesut, who latches onto Elio whenever he sees him.  
Elio sleeps in a small room with Mesut and the handsome young man that bathed him the first night, Vecihi, which still seems to dislike him.   
Quite often Vecihi doesn’t sleep in the room with them, but nobody seems surprised and Elio wonders where he goes.  
Ertan is a tough teacher, he uses a cane to rap Elio’s hands when he gets things wrong and he talks to him in Turkish, rarely using Latin; he is pleased that Elio has a previous knowledge of the alphabet, that is similar to Arabic, but Elio’s grandfather had showed him some works by Avicenna when he was a child.   
He finds the Turkish language difficult, but is determined to learn.  
Oliver leaves the house in the mornings and is back in the evenings, Elio sometimes catches sight of him, but Oliver ignores him.   
Elio cannot understand what he did to displease him. Selim brings Elio an oud and he plays it in the evenings in the kitchen after dinner, lively tunes that the others seem to appreciate.  
It is a quiet time and, as such, cannot last.


	3. The Printing Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio meets a friendly person and chats about his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely comments! I am blushing... I am worried that I annot manage to be a couple of chapters ahead of what I publish, hopefully this week end work will not intrude upon my writing.   
> Spolery history notes at the end of the chapter...

January 1533

Snow falls in large flakes soon covering all in white; the full moon lights the city and the tall marble minarets and full domes are not distinguishable from the other buildings, the city is a white scenography to the life struggling within. Beautiful and cruelly cold.  
“You should go back to your room” Oliver turns towards Vecihi that is lying on his back tracing the pattern on the bedcover with his finger.  
“The room is cold” He looks at Oliver with his large dark eyes.   
“Ask Selim to give you extra blankets, there are plenty in the house.” They have had this conversation plenty of times, he mostly gives in to the young man, but he cannot sleep well with someone else beside him, and he needs his wits the next day.  
“Why do I have to sleep with slaves?” Vecihi pouts, knowing that it makes him more attractive.  
“Strictly speaking, only Gunes is a slave, Mesut is a servant. You could have your own home, I pay you enough.”   
Oliver wonders if he should just push him out of the bed, but it would be quite undignified.   
Vecihi realise that he has to go, but before he is forced back into the servant’s quarter he will make sure Altin will think of him. He slides down the bed and starts to lick Oliver’s cock, slow delicate movements.   
Oliver shudders and sits up and grabbing the man’s hair presses him down to his groin. Vecihi takes him into his mouth and sucks while Oliver thrusts into him; it is over quite soon, Oliver comes fast and hopes that it will help him to have a dreamless sleep.

As Elio arrived to the library for the morning lessons he saw Oliver; it had been weeks since he had caught a glimpse of him.   
The courtyard was covered by the snow and Oliver was wearing a dark grey fur cape that made Elio quite envious, it had been freezing for the last week.   
“Good morning Altin Effendi, that the day bring prosperity” Elio hoped his pronunciation was correct as he bowed; Oliver smiled at him and replied in Turkish “Good morning Gunes, I hear you are good student and my investment was not in vain.”  
“I still have much to learn, as Ertan Hoca reminds me, but talking is easier than listening.”  
Oliver laughed “Talking is always easier than listening, that is why those who listen are favoured by fortune. Learn to listen Gunes, listen and then learn what to tell and what to keep to yourself.”  
Elio nodded, he hoped he understood what was said to him, and that he could manage to do what was asked for him.   
Ertan joined them, and Oliver again complimented Elio’s progress; he seemed to be in a good mood and Elio wondered what he did to offend him the last time, was it the music he chose? 

“You have been in the house too long Gunes, why don’t you go out and explore a bit? Mesut can guide you; I need to talk to Ertan. Actually, I need the book I ordered to be collected; I think you will be interested in the Soncino print shop.”   
Oliver’s smile was just a flicker, but genuine, and Elio was surprised that such a small and fleeting gesture could lift his spirits. He nodded; he was afraid of the world outside the house, but also extremely curious to see what it was like. The two feelings were as two snakes crushing his heart with fear and exhilaration. But he had lived most of his life with such opposing feelings.  
Selim handed him a fur lined cape and leather boots that were slightly too big for him; Mesut ran ahead chatting too fast for Elio to fully understand him.   
The small streets were full of people; walking, sitting, arguing, selling strange wares or drinking the bitter dark drink they seemed to like. All the stone built houses seemed to have wooden shuttered balconies hanging on them as by luck; Elio felt unseen eyes looking at him as he walked past them.

They reached a small shopfront and as Elio entered he smelt the scent of ink and paper; a man with a kippah greeted them, and then looking at Elio said in Spanish “You are a son of Abraham, are you not? I am Gershon, pleased to meet you!”  
Elio looked at the man standing in front of him, he was stocky with a flowing dark beard speckled with grey, his eyes were dark but kindly and his fingers were black with ink, ingrained into his skin.  
“No, I am not, but my grandfather Samuel, son of Moshe, was a converso, or was called a marrano so he left his home for Italy. My name is Elio… Sorry, my name is now Gunes.” The man nodded, and placed his hand on Elio’s shoulder “You are a son of Abraham, welcome Elio or Gunes, that is the same anyway. I knew Samuel had a daughter, but we lose touch of our brothers. What brings you here?”  
“My master Altin Terjuman has sent me to collect the book he ordered.”   
Mesut pulled at Elio’s robe and pointing to a group of children playing in the street asked if he could join them; Elio smiled and nodded, he forgot how young the boy was and how hard he worked in the kitchen.

Inside the shop was covered with prints and bound books, he could hear the bang of the book press in the background; he moved automatically towards a shelf where Italian books were displayed. He lightly touched the spine of a volume.  
“Your master has ordered Petrarch’s poems; it seems you are also interested in the Canzoniere. How did you end here with a master, and how is your grandfather?”  
Elio’s expression clouded, so much pain in one innocent question.   
“My grandfather died four years ago, and how I ended in the slave market here in Constantinople is a painful tale of naval defeat and humiliation.”  
Gershon nodded, it was a too similar story in this city, many arrived with tales of violence that scarred souls and destroyed lives.   
“I am sorry Samuel died, he was a man of great knowledge, a teacher and a scholar. Many in Catalonia learned from him and he cured many more. The country lost much when he moved to Italy; I hope he was treated with the respect he deserved in his new homeland.”

The kind words almost made Elio cry, the years alone and shunned at Bordighera, only the Cybo family patronage kept them afloat. How humiliated his grandfather must have been when Elio was born and how the death of his daughter, and Elio’s mother, Annella, destroyed him; he never really recovered and died a few years after.   
Elio’s expressions told the other man all he needed, and it saddened him, how fleeing persecution, leaving all behind, did not help Samuel. He himself had the fortune of being protected and free, but it all depended on the whim of a ruler.  
“Come Elio, grandson of Samuel, I shall offer you some tea and we will discuss books and poetry to lift the soul from sadness.”  
Elio smiled “No, please, the dark drink is so bitter! I do not understand why it is so liked!”  
“The trick is to place honey in it and eat sweets, I shall show you.”

The rest of the morning was spent discussing Petrarch, Catalonia and how Samuel had been much respected by those who knew him. Samuel never talked about his home country while Annella told many stories to her child about the land she was born in.   
When Mesut ran into the shop looking worried Elio realised he had wasted most of the morning, and, after collecting the book he had been sent to bring back, ran back to the house; he hoped he was not in trouble and never let out of the house again, because he wanted to return and talk some more with Gershon and learn about his heritage.

He almost tripped into the library; there was only Oliver sitting crossed legged on a large cushion by the window, reading a large volume.   
“I am sorry Altin Effendi, I was distracted and I am late, please be merciful with this undeserving servant.” Elio bowed clutching the book to his chest.  
Oliver looked up and smiled “I thought you would enjoy the Soncino Press, it is an interesting place.”  
He took the book that Elio handed him and noticed that, even if worried for being late, the boy’s green eyes had a light that was missing just a few hours ago; yes, the bookshop had been a good idea, he needed Gunes to be mesmerizing this evening, and even if the cut of the eyes was still sad, there was no trace of the despair that had clouded him.  
As much as Oliver was going to use Elio’s talents, he was also pleased for the boy, but the way he was so beautiful without being aware of it was seductive and dangerous.

“Gunes, you need to practice the oud this afternoon, if you know any French songs, please play them; Selim will bath you and prepare clothes for you. I have guests at dinner and you will play for them, do not let me down.”  
Elio nodded, that was something he could do, he had done so for the Cybos in his previous life.  
“I will instruct you on what you must do tonight, we will see if you are ready to be useful”   
Oliver’s expression was suddenly blank, as though a mask had been placed before him, inscrutable and distant; a cold shiver engulfed Elio, he knew that something serious was going to take place and that he needed to have his wits about him.  
The warm and pleasant feeling he had leaving the bookshop was quickly evaporating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick history note, as Isabel and Ferdinand conquered Spain back from the Arabs, the Jewish population found themselves in a desperate situation. They had to convert to Christianity or be thrown out of the country. Conversi where the Jewish that converted, but many were accused of being Marrani (pigs), pretending to convert but still following the Jewish faith. The Spanish inquisition was founded manly to hunt marrani.  
> The Soncino family were Italian and an early printers. They printed the first Hebrew Bible and moved to many countries, especially within the Ottoman Empire. Gershon actually died in 1533, but I will make him live, poor Elio needs a friend, and travelled throughout Europe to look for manuscripts to print and help Spanish Jews.


	4. The French Diplomat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio finds out what he is needed for as Oliver welcomes guests to his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments and here I am with a chapter that cost me sweat and tears… We are moving into the dark politics of the time and I am being naughty with Antonio Rincon (notes at the end); I have no idea if he would find Elio delicious or be disgusted, but being an AU world written by me, ALL find Elio as gorgeous as I do, so there!  
> New Coda chapter will be published this week end...

Elio walked in a daze, he thought he knew too well what Altin expected from him; it had been his fear since he ended in the slave ship. Just thinking of his time there made him sick; he needed to rub out the memories.   
Suddenly his stomach rumbled, he had not eaten since lunch, and as his grandfather said “Stupid decisions are made on an empty stomach” we wandered to the kitchen to see if anything was available.   
As he entered he saw Theodorus, the cook, berating Mesut for being late; the boy looked distraught.   
“Please Theodorus, it is all my fault Mesut was late, I took too much time for a commission that Altin Effendi requested us. Throw your anger to me.”   
He realised that the kitchen was in chaos, the dinner being prepared was a grand affair. Theodorus grunted slapping Mesut’s head he ordered him to get to work; Mesut looked at Elio with gratitude mixed with adoration.   
Elio grabbed a plate of food left for him on the table and took it out into the courtyard to eat, not before sneakily handing a piece of bread to Mesut that gratefully gobbled it immediately.

Elio picked up the oud and wondered where he could practice; the kitchen was busy and he was feeling cold, but the small walled kitchen garden was the only place he could think of. He liked playing where people could hear him, on his own the music would get more and more melancholic, and Altin had ordered French popular music.   
As he started caressing the cords and trying to modify D’oū vient cela, belle to one voice and oud, he felt observed. He looked up and from a window he saw a group of women listening; they smiled and waved.   
He recognised two of them, they were often in the kitchen at mealtimes, but the older veiled woman he had never seen before; he bowed and started playing freely, as song after song came back to him.

“Elio, mon Coeur se recommande à vous, now full of woe and deep despairing.” Elio felt the tears as he played; he could feel Giuliano next to him as he sang.   
Giuliano’s blond curls brushing against his cheek as he read the score, his lips as they sang together as one voice.   
“My mouth which once could smile in gladness / and charming stories improvise / now can only curse in madness / those who banished me from your eyes.” He finished the last note and felt he could no longer practice; he needed to be ready for the evening, he needed to be strong and remembering Giuliano would only break him once more.  
He smiled at the women and went back to his room. 

When Selim arrived to take him to bath Elio had recovered and felt he was ready to face whatever was awaiting. “Fear of fear is the enemy” he repeated to himself.  
He was once more taken to the baths; after the first day he had washed with the others in a small room next to the kitchens; the luxurious baths were for Altin’s personal use and Elio wondered why he was taken to them again.   
Vecihi was waiting for him and once more Elio was undressed and stood naked; Vecihi started to roughly rub him clean as Elio tried to stand still, submitting to the indignity. But as he felt the man’s hands run between his buttocks he shrank away, Vecihi laughed “Shy Gunes? We need to get your hole clean for tonight, even if it will get dirty again!”  
Elio pressed himself against the tiled wall “I will clean myself” his voice was strong as he licked his lips nervously wondering where he could run to, watching Vecihi slowly walking towards him.

“Vecihi, stop playing, I need you to assist me!” Oliver walked into the room and both boys turned to look towards him. He was wearing only a white linen towel loosely tied on his hips, droplets of water clung to his blond hairs on his chest and legs; the light of the lamps threw a golden light over him.   
Elio thought he resembled one of the statues of Greek gods he saw in Cardinal Doria’s palace; beautiful, tall, imposing and quite frightening; he held back the impulse to cover his nakedness, suddenly feeling shy.  
Vecihi eagerly ran towards Oliver, who had stretched himself onto the marble table, and started to massage him.  
Oliver observed Elio quickly rinse himself; the welts on his back had disappeared, the merchants had been careful to punish him with pain without lasting damage to the fine white skin.   
The boy had his back to him, but Oliver enjoyed the view of the small pert bottom and slim hips, and, as he felt Vecihi’s hands massaging him, rubbing scented oils into his body, he idly wondered how Gunes’ hands would feel on his skin. 

Elio felt his skin boiling, and as troubled as he was thinking of the evening ahead, he could not quite erase the image of Altin as a pagan god.   
The clothes Selim had left for him were rich embroidered silk; baggy black pantaloons that tightened around his lower calf and hung low over his hips and a black vest, both embroidered with silver flowers.   
As he waited to be called, repeating to himself “fear of fear is the fear”, he idly plucked the oud’s strings. He heard voices in the courtyard, the guests were arriving and he was tempted to see who they were, but as he got up to look into the main courtyard Oliver entered the room. He was dressed in rich dark blue robes, the only pattern was the close weave, and the colour emphasised the blue of his eyes and the gold of his hair.  
“Gunes, tonight is when I see if you were worth the coins I spent. I want you to be seductive and dumb, you are a Spanish boy that understands no other language, you will smile and play the oud and sing and, while they admire you, you will listen. Listen to what they talk about, their unguarded thoughts, gossip, and any stupid thing that comes out of their mouths. Later tonight you will tell me what you heard, and things that you think stupid and silly can make a difference between living and dying.”  
Elio’s eyes widened, the relief he felt was so overpowering that he was not daunted by the task entrusted upon him.   
Oliver smiled, he felt a small amount of guilt for the anxiety he knew the boy must have felt all day, but hopefully it would keep him sharp. Selim had chosen the garments well, Gunes was delicious, as a blushing peach that had a tint of unripened green.

Oliver strode to the outer courtyard and greeted the first guests, a pair of Venetian merchants, the brothers Giovanni and Domenico Verdan, three Turkish market officials and a sour looking Janissary. Oliver smiled at the last man, he was making it obvious he wanted to be anywhere but here; Mehmet was a good guard dog, but the problem was, whose dog was he?   
They were all waiting for the guest of honour, who soon arrived in a covered carriage; the man who emerged was tall and thin, he had hawkish features and very dark eyes.  
“Welcome Monsieur Rincon” Oliver bowed, followed by the others, except Mehmet that rigidly stood still.   
The man smiled “Thank you for opening your home to me Altin Terjuman, I am looking forward to your hospitality.”  
The group moved into the large dining hall, and sat on cushions spread out in a semicircle; servants brought trays of food and placed them on small tables next to the guests; Oliver observed the scene and made a small gesture to Selim who nodded.

Elio had been waiting to be called, he was feeling cold, his clothes were extremely light, and even if the small wooden stove was burning, he was getting little comfort from it.  
When Selim came to fetch him, he felt that his future in this strange place was at stake.   
The large banqueting hall was decorated with magnificent wall tapestries, floral decorations in vivid colours; the wooden floorboards were covered by rich carpets.   
He was so taken in by the surroundings he hardly noticed the guests who were staring at him.   
“Good job I have to seem an idiot” Elio thought; he gave the room a shy smile and sat on a cushion quite close to the Venetians and started playing the oud, keeping his gaze demurely down, but looking at the guests through his eyelashes; what the men in the room thought as coy was a calculated move by Elio.

Oliver relaxed, the boy was playing his part.   
He smiled at guest next to him, who was looking uncomfortable sitting on the ground.   
“How did you ever get used to sitting like a dog Altin? I really do not understand their preference for low beds, tables, divans…”  
“Antonio, they were nomads not too long ago, it is easier to carry with you smaller furniture. You get used to it, even tall people like us.” Oliver took a sip of wine, which was daring to serve at the banquet, as Mehmet’s scornful expression confirmed, but useful to get tongues loose.  
Antonio Rincon turned to look at Elio with a sly smile “The boy plays well, is he also a good instrument to be played? That white skin is irresistible… I know someone that would appreciate such a gift.”  
“I am sure he would, but the Spanish boy stays with me, I have no intention to get involved with the Palace games, there will be only one winner and it is impossible to guess who it will be, even if I have an idea.”   
Oliver glanced at Mehmet who was listening to the market officials complaining about pirates; Antonio laughed “You place too much faith on the she-wolf Altin, she is but a woman! But you are a greedy man, keeping the Spanish slave as well as the delicious Vecihi, greed is a sin, you know.”  
Oliver smiled, Antonio’s weaknesses did cloud his judgement and, in a place as this, it could be a fatal flaw.   
“Let us talk about practical matters, what are you going to do now that the first plan has been undone? Do you need my assistance in the coming weeks?” Oliver’s expression was open and friendly.  
Antonio scowled, he did not like being reminded of failure, but he needed the renegade’s help in this strange city; the Venetians were of limited use, and he could not count on the Genoese any longer.   
“There are plans, I will call for you when needed; I will get them to harass the Italian coast, I just need to find the right reason. And I do have an idea that can gain two victories in one action!” Antonio smirked, Oliver frowned, he hoped that he would not get too involved in palace politics following the French diplomat.

Elio continued to play beautifully, food was brought and wine flowed; all would agree that it had been a perfect evening.   
As the guests departed Oliver asked Selim to bring Elio to his rooms.  
“Let us see how Gunes has passed his first test” he thought smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History time!   
> Antonio Rincon was a Spanish born diplomat for the French king Francis I. He visited Constantinople many times and tried to get the Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent to harass the Emperor Charles V by attacking the Italian coast instead of invading Hungary. In 1533 there is no indication he was still at the Ottoman court having arrived early 1532, but it is my story, so he is here and has a central role…  
> The Janissaries were the crack battalions of the Ottoman army, the Sultan’s personal guards.   
> Please note the mention of the She-wolf, I cannot wait to write about her, a virtual hug to who guesses who she is…  
> A good idea of the songs Elio played can be found on the V&A website:   
> http://www.vam.ac.uk/content/articles/r/renaissance-music/


	5. The Game of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver is not happy with what Elio tells him; Elio has questions that need answering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and comments! I am afraid that this chapter is exposition, exposition, exposition… But not only! I had a hard week of work, so writing has been the last thing on my mind, but this week end the Muse has returned…

Elio’s fingers hurt; he had never played so much, and had never played not being carried away by the music. Having to listen while looking into the distance, simply being an object, had been difficult.   
He stared at his tender fingertips and wondered if the jumble of words would make any sense to Altin; to Elio they were names without context, and the Venetian dialect made him unsure if he understood anything.  
He hunched close to the stove, feeling the cold, and wondered what would happen to him if he was of no use.   
He recognised the looks that some of the men had given him and he was petrified; he would die than go through that again, run into the kitchen and grab the first knife and slash his wrists, there was no reason to survive in such a manner.  
Elio was still lost in a maze of dark thoughts when Selim came to fetch him and take him to Oliver.

He had never been in Oliver’s private rooms, the small windows opening to the inner courtyard, they were warm with the scent of unknown perfumes and rich carpets; he was ushered into a cosy sitting room, Oliver was seated onto a low divan. He had changed and was wearing a white robe; Elio wondered how anything Altin wore managed to exalt his blue eyes, eyes that were always hooded hiding the thoughts within.   
“Sit Gunes.” Oliver indicated a large cushion in front of him; Elio sat, crossing his legs and looked up to the man that bought him, that had absolute power over him but, in that moment, there was no fear but eagerness to tell him what he had heard and see if it was of use.  
“So, what has my ear picked up tonight while looking delightful?” Oliver was smiling.  
“Altin Effendi I am not sure if I was of any help, the Venetians were mostly talking about the food and music. They did complain about the pirate situation that was taking a toll on their finances. They also were complaining of the Genoese and their alliance with the Emperor. I can be more specific if you need, but there was nothing in it that I could not understand so I doubt it was secret or new. Only one name was mentioned and the conversation then interrupted. The younger Venetian said “Alvise is on the move again, the kings are willing to trap the eagle.” The older Venetian nodded, but they did not continue the conversation.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed, he muttered something under his breath that Elio could not catch and ran a hand through his blond hair.   
Elio looked down, wondering if he should have been more attentive during the banquet.  
“Thank you Gunes, you have been invaluable, it seems that some games have started without my knowledge. You can go, please let Selim know that I need him to bring Ertan to me first thing in the morning. I also do not want to be disturbed tonight, make it clear.”  
Elio nodded, and as he left the room he saw Selim and Vecihi waiting, as he referred Oliver’s orders he noticed Vecihi frown and flounce away; he did not want to think why the young man was waiting outside Altin’s rooms. He was tired and just wanted to sleep, a dreamless sleep.

Oliver sat, distractedly playing with the rim of his robe; the news was a bother. He had hoped to be kept in the loop of games being played by kings, but it seemed that there was something happening in the East that he was not aware of.   
Alvise was a wily devil and impossible to keep track of, he doubted that even Ibrahim Pasha was able to do so.   
As he fell asleep he saw a pair of green eyes looking straight at him without fear, and for once, there was no sea bubbling with blood in his dreams.

Elio woke as the Muezzins started their calls, it was dark and cold and he was alone in the room; Mesut must have gone to the kitchen and it seemed that Vecihi had not slept in his bed.   
He had so many questions, but was not sure who to ask and how to phrase his doubts. As he arrived to the library he saw that Oliver was talking to Ertan, both looked worried. Oliver turned to him “Gunes, there will be no lessons today, go to and fetch Mesut and go for a walk, you need to get to know the city!”   
Elio nodded, he wanted to see Gershom and go to the printing press again, the only person that could answer some of his questions.   
As he was leaving, Selim appeared with a tall man. He was nearly as tall as Altin, who was the tallest man that Elio had ever met, he had grey eyes and light brown hair, everything about him, the way he walked and dressed, was different from other western men he had seen.  
“William, you are early, good.” Oliver said in Turkish. The man replied in a language that Elio had never heard, it seemed to be all s and hard ts; as he walked to the kitchens he realised that Altin was replying in the same language, he turned and saw that Altin’s expression was as open as that of a child, carefree for an instant as he spoke unknown words in an unknown language. As though what was unknown for Elio was as intimately known to Oliver, so much as to bring back words of childhood that remain anchored in the soul till the moment of death.   
It was but a fleeting moment, but Elio knew he had seen something so intimate he felt guilty. He wondered who was the Altin he had fleetingly seen, what type of man would he be, less or more frightening.

“I see that you continue to spend on pretty boys while there are so many pretty girls to choose from!” The man’s tone was disapproving while he looked at Elio walking away, Oliver shrugged. “The use is not what your mind in the gutter thinks William. But I have not dragged you here to talk about my bedroom preferences.”   
It felt strange speaking in English; the words came out of his mouth automatically without having to search for the right one, but the sound was starting to feel alien to his ears. His largest fear was starting to be fulfilled; time was running out, if he still had time.   
“I hope I was not dragged across the Bosporus for that, Hawke, so what is the important matter that could not wait for a decent hour?”  
“My name is Altin, William, please remember.”  
As Oliver sat on the floor cushion, William perched on the window ledge, but having him towering over him did not worry Oliver.   
“So, a little bird told me that there are plans to harass the Imperial Eagle from the eastern front, and that his majesty is aware of such action. Am I of no use that telling me is superfluous?”  
“Altin, it was news to us here as well; Paris is the centre of the plan that is in the hands of Alvise, and we all know he is playing his own game and allows spectators when and if he feels like it.”  
Oliver nodded, it was true that Alvise had his own agendas and the best others could do was ride along with him, but he did not like being out of the ride.   
Had he been in some way distracted in the last few months as to miss hints and rumors?  
“So, any news from the Emerald Isle? How are things progressing with Rome?”   
William smiled at Oliver’s question, the conversation would be easier now, straight forward news to refer, even if it was problematic and would probably change their world forever. But that was the power of rulers, and those under them had no other option than follow.

Elio envied Mesut’s ability to find interest in anything passing him by and any happiness he could snatch.   
He was trying to do the same, recognising things that gave him pleasure among the unknown and terrible things around him; he cultivated the morning lessons and playing the oud as respites in the battle to stay afloat. And visiting the Soncino press was another respite.  
As soon as he smelt the ink and wood he felt reassured; Gershom welcomed him with tea and sweets, Mesut ran out to play.  
“So, Gunes, son of Samuel, what brings you here? Another errand for Altin Effendi?”  
Elio warmed his hands around the tea cup, “No, I came for answers, if you have the time of course…”   
The previous night he had realised the sheltered life he lead and how he know nothing of the things that mattered. He needed to know and the man in front of him was the only one he trusted to give a complete answer.  
Elio sipped the bitter tea and looked at the kindly man in front of him, his beard was closely clipped and he was smiling at him, ready for Elio to ask.

“I have lived in the Genoese Republic all my life, and I know who is the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V and his rivalry with France’s king, Francis I, Andrea Doria, the Republic’s hero, kicked out the French and allayed us to the Empire. I know that as Genovese we have been enemies of Venice for centuries. I know that the king of the Turks is Suleiman, but there are many countries and alliances I know nothing about, people moving war for reasons I do not understand. Who is Alvise for instance?”  
“That is a long question Gunes, and I fear it will be a long and incomplete answer. Kings play a game of chess using their subjects, countries plan how to destroy their rivals and man will kill man for a piece of bread. My enemy’s enemy is my friend is the universal creed, but…”  
Gershon looked up to the ceiling as to find the words to explain such vast themes.  
“You know about the sack of Rome Gunes?”  
Elio nodded, he remembered hiding with his family as the terrifying troops of strangely dressed men passed through his land; they killed and robbed wherever they passed, and the stories Giuliano told him about being in Rome during the horror would live with him forever. 

“The world trembled when the news broke, of how the Tomb of Peter was defiled. So the rulers decided to fight their wars away from Europe, along the borders of the Empire, and use as an ally whoever was willing to gamble. Suleiman the Magnificent, our blessed ruler is doing the same. So now the war against the Holy Emperor is being fought in Hungary, slowly all the chess pieces are being placed there, and Alvise is the king-maker. Alvise Gritti serves himself, not Venice, not the Sultan, not the King of France. But they all hope he will succeed to defeat the Emperor, since it is their interest.”  
Elio nodded, he was seeing a pattern; strong men that defied destiny and tried to forge their life according to their wishes and not what fate intended. Normal people were easily crushed standing close to such men.

“Gunes, I have here something that will help you understand such things; it has been recently printed in Florence and I am sure Altin Effendi will find it interesting, after you have read it of course.” Gershon handed a book to Elio, who read the title, The Prince by Niccolo’ Machiavelli.   
“I knew of his writings, he served in Florence under Lorenzo the Magnificent, Machiavelli was an intelligent man.” Elio clutched the book, eager to start reading it.  
“He was a man who observed Gunes, and that is a talent. Altin Effendi is a master of observation, but dislikes having to make moves, while here in Constantinople we have the mistress of observation that has no fear of moving, but since she is unseen she is easily forgotten, and that is her ultimate power. I pray that you never are involved in her game; a she-wolf that protects her cubs is a frightful thing.”  
Elio had heard Oliver’s guest mention a she-wolf and had wondered who she was, just as he was opening his mouth to ask Gershon place a finger on his lips.  
“You will find out, but I shall not pronounce any of her names here; she has ears throughout the city and dislikes being mentioned. Listen to servant’s gossip, you will find out much more than what I can tell you.”

Mesut ran into the shop and Elio realised it was approaching lunch time, so he bid farewell to his friend, and as he walked back to the house, he wondered what was his role in the game of kings.   
He was but a small foot soldier, but what was Altin? And who was he serving, if anyone? Actually, thinking about the morning guest, who was Altin?  
Oliver was alone in the library when Elio returned, and he was pleased with the book.   
In the afternoon Elio read The Prince aloud to Oliver and they discussed it.   
Oliver liked the passage about the fist of steel in a velvet glove, and Elio thought that it seemed a good description of Altin.  
“If every day could be as this” Elio wished, but the return of the French Ambassador crushed his hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> History notes!  
> Alvise Gritti (1480-1534) was the son of the Venetian ambassador to the Ottoman court and grew up in Constantinople; he gained favour with the court, and was sent to Hungary to support King John, and, later, regent for the Hungarian kingdom. He had been promised the Duchy of Austria once the Turkish troops invaded. He was killed in a revolt. 
> 
> The Sack of Rome took place in 1527; the Imperial troops of Charles the V defeated the alliance of France, Papacy, Milan, Venice and Florence against him. It was a terrible moment; the Protestant Swiss mercenaries ransacked the churches and killed many citizens, entering the city because they had not been paid, not on military orders. The Pope seeked refuge in the Castle of Sant’Angelo, built from the mausoleum of the emperor Hadrian. 
> 
> In 1533 William had a lot to tell Oliver about what was going on in the Emerald Isle. Henry VIII was changing the State religion…


	6. The Favourites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another banquet and a worrying late night encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments, sorry for the delay but terrible writer’s block has been plaguing me as well as work! Hope to catch up soon on my writing. So, nearly all have placed their pawns on the game, but one last player is missing.

Elio was in his room teaching Mesut to read; the boy had asked him weeks previously and Elio gladly agreed.   
As he watched the boy’s face screw in concentration as he traced the words with his fingers he wondered about the boy’s past. He was a street child, he knew that, they were all the same in every city in the world, but he also had a sweet and curious expression, not hardened by life; he had been in some way spared the worse.  
All in the household had a history, and he felt that the largest history was Altin’s; he wondered where he came from, who he was in a previous life, a life away from this city of many races and languages.

Vecihi entered the room and gave Elio a glare, he picked up his cloak and left without a word; the dislike he showed always surprised Elio, he did not understand the reason.   
Mesut stuck out his tongue at the receding figure and Elio had to stifle a giggle. Mesut and Ertan were such a comfort for him, he would feel lost within the household without them; he ignored the thought of blue eyes that looked at him intently as he read aloud books in the afternoons, he preferred not to think about Altin Effendi.

He was surprised when Selim called him and told him to take the oud with him; Altin had left in the morning and had not come back yet.   
He was taken through the long corridors to a part of the building he had never seen before, which looked out to the small courtyard behind the kitchens.   
They stopped in front of a grilled partition; Elio could see some women seated behind the golden ornate metalwork, they were veiled.  
“Hanfendi Munise, here is the boy.” Selim bowed and left Elio standing in the small room looking at the shadowy figures.  
“Sit Gunes, oh favourite one, Altin Effendi has accepted my plea, and you can play your oud for me. I would like to hear your music again.” The sweet voice was of an older woman, she was sitting in the centre of the group and dressed in white and Elio wondered if she was one of the women he saw from the window a few weeks ago.   
He sat and started to pluck the cords of the oud; he had learnt some Turkish melodies, but decided to play songs of spring and life, blue skies and worlds to be seen.   
Songs that filled the heart of hope for those who are captive.

When Selim returned to take Elio back the lady spoke again. “Thank you Gunes, you read the heart of those who listen. The past is just a weight that keeps you from moving forward; please do not repeat mistakes others have done. I look forward to hear you again.”  
Elio bowed and as he returned to the servant’s quarter he asked Selim who the lady was.   
“Taner Effendi’s widow, the lady of the house.” It did not feel like an answer, since Elio did not know who Taner was, but he did not dare to ask anything else.

Oliver returned as dusk fell upon the city and the torches were being lit in the courtyard. He looked preoccupied as he dismounted.   
“Selim, get Gunes dressed for a banquet and the carriage ready. I shall wash and dress myself.”   
He hurried into the building, he hated having to do things without time to prepare, but he could not risk missing the dinner that Antonio had organised, even if it was stepping into the lion’s den.  
As he washed Oliver ignored Vecihi’s attempts to help him; the young man looked angry as he left the bathhouse, but Oliver did not have time or the interest to reassure him.  
Elio was in the courtyard when Oliver was ready to leave. The boy’s hair had grown a lot, his loose curls falling on his shoulders, he was wearing a long heavy rode and Oliver hoped that underneath he was a bit less exposed than the last time.   
“Gunes, I need your ears again, and your fingers on the oud. Be very careful, tonight we are guests with a lion; Ibrahim Pasha is the second most important person in the city; he speaks directly into the Sultan’s ear. Antonio has reached some agreement for his king, but we do not know what is expected in exchange. There will be something to give in exchange, do not doubt it, and it will be a lot.”  
Elio nodded and clutched the oud; he felt a slight shiver of excitement, he was useful, he had a purpose, he was going out into the world.

The carriage reached the shore and there was a boat waiting, Elio knew that they were crossing to the foreigner side of the city, towards the large round tower that he could see looming wherever he moved.   
The water was black and dense, Elio wondered the secrets that it held as he felt the slap of the water against the boat; Oliver was silent, lost in thoughts too intertwined to be followed freely.   
They were finally brought to a smaller home than Elio was expecting, less luxurious than Altin Effendi’s, but spacious nonetheless, and in the hall, sitting in the centre, was a man dressed magnificently, wearing the largest white turban Elio had ever seen. Oliver bowed and pressed Elio’s back to do the same.   
“Greetings Makbul Ibrahim Pasha, I am honoured to be of your service.”  
The man just gave a small nod, his features were sharp and cutting and his eyes were dark and unblinking. Next to him there was a large red bearded man, Oliver sucked in his breath as he saw him, but smiled as he said “Greetings to you Hayreddin Pasha.”  
The evening was going to be difficult indeed Oliver thought as he sat next to Antonio.

Elio was taken to a small raised platform and started playing; he was not sure what his role was since he could not hear any conversations, but he kept himself alert and demurely looked at Oliver speaking to the three men.   
The red beard man frightened him, he knew who he was and being in the same room with the pirate Barbarossa, the scourge of the sea, Admiral Doria’s nemesis and the man that was responsible for where he was now was a strain; but Altin Effendi needed him to be alert and he would try his best.

“So Altin, Barbarossa will destroy the Italian coast and keep the Emperor away from the Hungarian situation, it will also be in the interest of King Francis, but there is something they want, help me understand what they want from me.” Oliver nodded as Antonio spoke; what they wanted would be something substantial and very unpleasant.   
“The bitch is gaining too much power; I need someone to distract him, as beautiful and intelligent to interest him. Find me such a woman wherever in the world and bring her to me.” Ibrahim’s tone was hard and uncompromising; as Oliver translated he saw Antonio look thoughtful and wondered who was the unfortunate candidate he was thinking of.   
“Let them know that I shall send them some possible names, all high class ladies of beauty. There is a chance to make it work for all!”  
Work for all, not for the woman that will end up imprisoned in the Topkapi harem, no freedom ever and in direct competition with the most dangerous mind the devil had begotten. Oliver hoped that he would not be involved in this as he watched all three men nod and smile.

Elio stopped playing and was taken to a small room where other servants were eating. He listened to their gossip, names he was not sure of, but he memorised them, Altin needed him for this.  
“Ibrahim has lost his mind since he is not his sun’s favourite any longer!” The boy who said it was lightly slapped by an older man “Shush fool, never joke of those powerful. Even the truth is to stay hidden within their earshot!” They both looked at Elio and he smiled at them reassuringly.   
He doubted such a cold sharp man could ever lose his mind, but the human heart moved according to its own rhythms.

He was tired when Oliver called for him and they left the house in silence. Elio could sense the man was troubled, even in the dark he could feel the rigidity of his movements. As they crossed the Bosporus it started snowing again and both were looking forward to getting back to their beds.  
As they approached their waiting carriage Oliver stopped and cursed under his breath. There were five large shadows in front of them.

One of the men approached them; he was black as the cloak he was wearing.  
“Altin Terjuman please follow us, there is someone that would be delighted to see you.” There was no warmth in the voice, and, as politely worded, there was no doubt the request was an order.   
Oliver nodded, and turning to Elio said “Go home Gunes, let Selim know I shall be back later.”  
Elio bowed, and as he turned towards the waiting carriage the large stranger placed a hand on his shoulder “The boy is also invited to the meeting.”  
As they followed the men along the shore, Elio wondered if they were making sure that there would be no witnesses and if the dark waters would be where he would rest till Judgment day, but he suddenly felt Altin take his hand and press it reassuringly; the comfort he felt surprised him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick history notes!  
> Ibrahim Pasha was the Grand Vizier and a childhood companion of Suleiman the Magnificent. He was a taken and made a slave as a boy, but his intelligence shone and made a magnificent career. His biography is a spoiler.
> 
> Hayreddin Barbarossa (1478-1546) was a pirate, the pasha of Algiers, Admiral of the Ottoman fleet and much more. Born on the island of Lesbos from a simple family, he and his elder brothers ruled the Mediterranean.


	7. The She-Wolf Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation and an order. Elio is left with more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! This chapter is a mess, but I enjoyed writing it. To reassure PerpetualStorm, Hurrem will be away plotting for a while after this.

The walk along the shore felt as though it would last forever, the snow was falling thicker, but Elio was only aware of the big hand holding his; the warmth and comfort was a rope thrown to him by fortune while he lost in fear. He could tell that the man walking beside him was nervous and worried, but he was not afraid, and if Altin was not afraid, Elio knew that he would not be either.

The group stopped in front of a moored barge and the tall black man stepped on board while the others stayed as guards.   
Oliver and Elio followed him to a large cabin, where, on a raised platform, a veiled woman was seating on a divan.   
The light was dimmed, only a couple of oil lamps that threw shadows; Elio could sense the presence of others in the cabin, unseen but ready to act if anything went wrong.  
Oliver prostrated himself to the ground and Elio copied him.

“Greetings Lady. I am unworthy to raise my eyes upon you in the honour you have bestowed me.”  
The woman laughed, pleasant and light, and she removed her veil, revealing the most beautiful face Elio had ever seen. Perfect features within an oval face, rosy lips and emerald green eyes; but there was steel in the eyes “A Minerva, not a Venus” Elio thought.

“Oliver Hawksmoor, you are so good with words, especially the ones you do not utter.” Her voice was low and soft, almost sweet.  
Oliver stiffened at the mentioning of his name, but kept his head down.   
Elio did not move, but he pricked his ears; would some of his questions about Altin be answered?  
“Silence is the virtue of the living Hurrem Sultan, there is no honour in being silent when buried.”  
Oliver wondered who was working for her in Antonio’s circle; but it was useless to wonder, every one worked for themselves in this city, it was the only way to survive.

“Indeed Hawksmoor, one appreciates silence, but what I do appreciate is those who know when to talk and to whom. Ears I have aplenty, but honest tongues are rare. Raise your head Hawksmoor, and let me read your expression.”  
Oliver looked up; the low lights made him look so young, softening his features, Elio stole a glance at him.  
“Hurrem Sultan, Oliver Hawksmoor died many years ago, there is only Altin here to serve you.”

“You are wrong Hawksmoor, we shed skins as a serpent, but the beast is the same. Hurrem, Roxelana, Anastasia, how many names do I have, how many fates, but am I different according to names? Anastasia did not die, she never will do. Do not kill Oliver Hawksmoor; I need him as I need Altin. I do not beg, so it is an order.”  
Oliver narrowed his eyes, the thought of bringing to the surface what he had been was impossible, too much had happened, but the woman in front of him was merciless; he could maybe shed another skin, which could be enough.

“Altin Oliver, you know as I do what is being planned. It shall not succeed even if it is ever accomplished, children of the moon will find each other as all other children, I do not doubt my Lord. But I do not need the strife in the harem as well as outside it, so when a name is chosen you will serve me. There is no time to be impartial, the game is closing and Ibrahim is getting desperate.”  
Oliver nodded, the she-wolf was never to be underestimated; his majesty was not a fool, even in love, and just beauty would not guarantee survival in the circle of hell that the harem was. Ibrahim Pasha had not chosen his war wisely, she was deadly when threatened. 

Hurrem turned to Elio and studied him smiling. “So Gunes, you are the one that cost nearly as much as I did. Raise your head boy, so that I can study you.”  
Elio looked up shyly, not quite daring to look at the formidable woman studying him.   
“Yes, you are not only pretty, I can see that, but I wonder why a man that likes to keep away from trouble decided to acquire you. I wonder who you resemble in some way. What is your real name boy?”  
“Elio Catalano.”   
It seemed strange to pronounce it, Elio felt that the name was starting to become alien to him, that he had nothing in common with Elio; it was a name like any other name. That he was indeed Gunes.

As the thoughts crossed over his features so clearly, Hurrem’s expression softened.   
“Shed your skin Elio, shed it as though the boy you were has shed that life. The soul is never imprisoned unless you build a cage around it, the spirit breaks if you will it to break. As soon as you have shed the previous skin you will be able to claim your name back just for yourself. Look at us, Anastasia is here and so is Oliver, even though he claims the contrary. There is Elio in Gunes, that is how you survive.”  
Elio nodded, he was not quite sure what he was agreeing with, but something she said rang true; he turned to look at Altin; the man was still, lost somewhere in the past.

“Oliver, you made an interesting acquisition; the boy has more within him than the pretty face, I am quite tempted to claim him…”  
Oliver’s jaw clenched slightly and she laughed “So I do get a reaction! Both can go now. I will let you know when you are needed, I do not need to remind you that things will be dangerous now, I am so close to victory.”   
She made a slight gesture with her hand and the tall black man appeared to escort Oliver and Elio out; both felt the relief that the meeting had ended; they had feared her probing within them with her sharp mind and strip them of the masks they had created.

They were once more walking in silence, the snow had stopped falling, covering everything in candid white as to mask the ugliness underneath.   
As they entered the courtyard of the house, Elio looked at Oliver “She is the…”  
Oliver placed a finger lightly on Elio’s lips “Shush Gunes, nothing you saw tonight happened, it was a bad dream that has nothing to do with you.”   
He smiled at the boy “Go to sleep and tomorrow everything will be light.” Elio nodded and walked to his room.   
Mesut was asleep, tightly curled into his blanket while Vecihi’s bed was empty.   
Elio was tired, and as he was falling into a dreamless sleep he thought he could feel the warmth of a large hand on his skin.

As Oliver entered his study he saw Vecihi asleep on the divan; the young man looked so peaceful, his full lips slightly open and tight black curls falling over his brow.   
Oliver sighed as he gently covered him with a throw; he had been weak and unfair to Vecihi, in the morning he needed to be honest, as difficult as it would be.   
He silently moved to his bedroom and as he got under the blankets he felt so cold and alone, afraid to fall asleep. Hurrem was right; Oliver still existed, but as a broken shell filled with pain and anger.  
The dream was the usual bubbling sea of blood, but, as he was drowning within it, a small hand appeared and clung to his.   
Such a small hand, but as it touched the water the blood receded from it and the colour of the sea was as green as a pair of eyes that looked at him in confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Her names are many, probably Anastasia, known as Roxelana and her title was Hurrem Sultan. Captured at an early age, probably from Poland, she quickly became the favourite of Suleiman. She was a survivor, and as all historical women that survive, has a terrible reputation. The rest is a spoiler...
> 
> The Ottoman sultans chose their heirs from the sons they had with their harem concubines, all slaves; this avoided any family interference within the empire. Once chosen as the new Sultan, they tended to get rid of their half-brothers that avoided civil wars.  
> Visiting the harem at the Topkapi palace I thought of the boredom the women must have felt, a smallish place, stuck with other bored women, worse than an all-girl school where you can never leave. A circle of hell indeed.


	8. Black Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver think, about what the future holds, what the past brought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! I am sorry for the delay, but work and writer's block is reality getting into my writing. I fear that Golden Sun will be a bit slower, as Coda.  
> WARNING for implied under-age non consensual sexual content.   
> Yabanci = Foreigner

Elio wakes still tired from the all that happened the night before.   
He remembers muddled dreams, a mixture of faces and words; and a name “Oliver Hawksmoor”.   
As he dressed, Vecihi enters the room, his eyes are red as though he had been crying, the young man wipes his eyes angrily “It is all your fault Gunes! All yours!” he shouts while grabbing his cloak and striding back out of the room.  
He just stands wondering what he had done this time; sometimes he feels that just being born was his crime, as though he was a mistake that the universe has to rectify.

The lesson with Ertan was stimulating as usual, they talked about the Ottoman Empire; how it started and expanded the rules and laws.   
It was strange to see things from a different point of view; Elio had grown up thinking that they were heathen monsters. But his dear grandfather was seen as a heathen monster as well, and, as Elio knew, he was anything but a monster.  
Altin did not visit the library as he often did, and Elio felt a bit defrauded for some reason.   
He knew that he could not talk to anyone about what had happened the night before but he needed to know more. What had Roxelana asked for? What did she know about Altin that he desperately wanted to know? Would these questions ever be answered?  
“Gunes, can you go to the printing press and collect Landino’s volume on Dante?”  
Elio nodded, he hoped he could gather information; he had realised that the only way was to ask in riddles and gather the answers.

He walked quickly, and for the first time, alone, through the streets; he was slowly getting accustomed to the various languages spoken and could understand what was being said. The ground was slippery with the snow icing, but it had not stopped people walking and chatting while sitting and drinking tea.   
Gershon welcomed Elio warmly, and after handing him the book Altin had requested, they sat down to chat.   
“If I ask you something, but vaguely, will you answer?”  
Gershon nodded, smiling, the boy was learning fast.  
“So, I was wondering, if a ruler trusts two people equally, what happens if there is a war over the ruler’s affections? How is it fought?”  
“Gunes, it is fought through pawns that can easily be discarded if necessary. The benevolence of rulers is a two edged sword; it can bring great honours and riches, but also great dangers. All want the benevolence of a ruler, the more powerful the ruler, the more battles there will be.”  
Elio nodded, it was the same with Doria; Giuliano took for granted his position in the household, but he was related.   
As he sipped the bitter drink he wondered if they were ready to kill in the Cybo household; he never got the impression, but there was enough spite and jealousy. 

Gershon continued, choosing his words carefully, “But sometimes it is more than wanting benevolence, it is a fight for survival. If you have a child, you want it to live, but if you knew that he could be killed just for being born and not being the heir of the throne, as a mother, how far would you go to avoid that fate for your child? How many people would you use without a thought?”  
Elio thought of the woman the night before, was there desperation in her eyes? No, but steel determination definitely.   
“Sometimes it is better to be a humble artisan, working quietly and earning small respect from your peers. Ambition clouds judgement. But sometimes you need to play the game to gain something, to survive, to be free.”   
Gershon looked up from his tea and stared at Elio.  
“Is that what my master is doing? Trying to gain something?”  
“Who knows what your master is or wants?” Gershon slowly sipped his tea and turned towards the bookshelves.  
“He is a man with many histories, layered one upon the other; he masks his feelings and his thoughts from all, probably himself as well.”  
Elio thought of Altin’s expressions, how they all seemed the same, but then he thought of the big hand holding his in reassurance, and wondered if it served the purpose of avoiding his breakdown.   
As he returned back to the house, holding the new book to add to the library, thoughts kept running madly; who was Altin, and, what would happen now that he was involved in power struggles.

 

Oliver felt so tired, in many ways he knew that this moment would arrive, as Roxelana had said, the end game was nearing, and not only at court.   
It had been over ten years that his life had veered off course into a nightmare, and he needed to emerge towards what he wanted, even if it was painful  
When he woke the Vecihi had been sitting on the floor looking at him, he wondered for how long.  
He had known that he had been weak and selfish, had given in to a need of any type of companionship, but when he found Vecihi that had not been the plan.

“Vecihi, I am sorry, I have been unjust to you, we cannot continue, I am not a master to you, and I do not want to use you in any way.”  
Vecihi looked angry “You do not use me Effendi, I want to please you since the day I met you. Effendi, you are the reason I am alive, how can you think that I am being used, I know what being used is.”   
Vecihi could feel tears burning, and it made him angrier. He looked at Oliver, the man that he had idolised for years, the man who he had given himself to, wanted to give himself to, desired for so long. The man who did not need him or want him.  
As soon as he saw Altin Effendi walk into the bath house Vecihi could not take his eyes off him; tall, so tall and golden hair.   
He had been so tired, all the men around him had pawed him since morning, he had massaged and cleaned, he had pleasured patrons and he knew that the next day would be the same, like the days before, till the end of time.  
But this yabanci just walked in to bath house and asked for nothing; when he came over he looked at Vecihi with such pain in his eyes. In the dim light and steam he heard the words “You look tired. How old are you?” the gentle tone was new to the boy. 

Vecihi looked at Oliver, sitting at the edge of the bed; he was as handsome as the day he saved him from the bath house all those years ago, when his life had changed. He could not be useful to him, not his mind, not even his body. He felt bereft.  
“It is the new boy, I have become too old for you.” The sadness in the tone hurt Oliver, he feared that part of it could be right, and he did not want to be such a man.   
Weakness had brought this problem and he was already ashamed.

“Vecihi, no, it is not Gunes, and it is not you. I made a mistake out of loneliness and weakness, I am sorry. I did not want to hurt you in any way, please believe me that you deserve more than adoring me, I am not worthy of it. You have a chance of a real life, a free life; please do not throw it away!”  
Oliver looked at the young man, still beautiful, black tight curls and full lips; he remembered the frightened boy, the desperate expression, how he purchased him and brought him back to the house. How he had tried to explain that he needed nothing in exchange and the self-loathing he felt when, after a visit by William, he had succumbed to Vecihi’s desire.   
Taner had told him many times “Altin, we are just human, we cannot save the world. We can do what we can, we must be just, but when we stumble, please remember to continue your path.”   
Vecihi stood up and walked out of the room. 

Elio stayed in the library for the rest of the day; books gave him solace in a world he did not quite understand.   
He wondered if he could learn to be a book maker and live quietly, it was a pleasant daydream he held onto till he went back to his room.   
Vecihi was just lying on his bed looking at the ceiling; as soon as he heard Elio enter he turned and glared at him.  
“You will be happy now; Altin Effendi has no need for me!” His tone was harsh, but Elio noticed the pain in his expression.   
He did not know how to reply, or even if an answer was needed.  
“Altin Effendi needs everybody and nobody. He still values you I am sure.” The words stumbled from Elio’s mouth, he instinctively knew that the young man needed some sort of comfort, but there would be no comfort taken from him.  
Vecihi gave a cruel smile “I hope you can suck him as well as I could, that is what he needs!” and got up from the bed.   
“I will show how I can be of use, just you see stupid mouse! I have been working for Altin Effendi.”   
As Elio watched Vecihi walk away the vision of Altin being pleasured by Vecihi appeared in his mind. He shuddered.

Vecihi stayed out all night, was not back at breakfast the next morning.   
The household was not worried till early evening; the snow had melted and the grey sky was striped with a light purple hue when a fisherman knocked at the door.  
Vecihi had been found floating in the black waters of the Bosporus, his throat slit.


	9. Fresh Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the funeral, Elio learns more about Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments and kudos! I think I will manage to write a chapter every two weeks, alternating with Coda, untill I manage to write more again.   
> We are getting somewhere I promise...

The fishermen carried Vecihi’s body on an old door. The once amber skin was pallid and bloated, smooth against the rough wood, his fine features wiped away by an eternal expression of surprise and a large gash around his neck.   
As they lowered the body in the courtyard the women started to wail; Oliver stood still looking at the body of a young man he had just rejected in the morning.   
He rubbed his face as wondering what to do and then leaned over and kissed the body’s forehead; with a gentle hand he closed the eyelids so that Vecihi would not gaze at the horrors of the world any more.   
“Selim, call the Iman and organise the funeral. I want him safe now, it is the least I can do.”  
As Selim nodded Oliver walked away, his back straight but Elio thought he saw a tremble in the broad shoulders. 

Mesut grabbed Elio’s hand and looked up at him with tear streaked face thinking of all the times he had fought with Vecihi and now feeling lost.   
Elio hugged him tight, he has seen so much death in violent ways in the past year that he should not be so affected, but how the grim reaper entered the palace, cutting a young life brutally and warning all that there is no safety, frightens him.  
Vecihi was taken to be cleaned and the women in the household prepare everything for the funeral; there is no sleep except for Mesut; Elio takes him to the bedroom and lulls him to sleep.  
He sits by the boy’s bed and wonders who would want Vecihi dead, and, if it was a warning, who was it from.   
He would have liked to ask Altin, but the rigid back was a clear indication that no questions were to be asked. 

The Iman lead the way along the narrow streets, dawn was breaking and coloured the white shroud covering Vecihi’s body a cold pink; everything was so still that Elio thought the only living beings in the world was the funeral party silently following the cart carrying the body.  
But he felt the gaze eyes watching behind closed shutters.   
As the body was lowered in the ground and slowly covered by earth, all realised that the young man, with a prickly character that had a smile so sweet and laughed deeply from his throat, was no more.   
He would never sit at the kitchen table and joke with the women, never complain about life, never sing silly songs. The trees and marble tombstones would be the only things keeping him company. 

Back at the house Elio stood alone in the courtyard, he doesn’t know what to do; all around him the household goes back to their duties, but he has no role. Going back to his room seems uncaring.  
“Gunes, can you please get your oud? The Lady wants some music today.” Elio nodded and collected the instrument as quietly as possible; Mesut was still asleep, curled up and Elio felt that he needed to protect the boy with any power he had. He covered the sleeping boy with his own blanket to keep him warm.

This time behind the grate there was only the older lady on her own; Elio bowed and sat on a cushion waiting for orders.  
“Welcome Gunes, it is a sad day and my heart is full of bitter tears, play and sing for me; sing about beauty and how fragile it is, sing in honour of a life cut short.”  
Elio nodded and plucking the strings started singing “Quant’ e’ bella giovinezza che si fugge tuttavia”  
As the last note was played the silence filled the room. The lady looked at him through the grill and took off her veil; she had a sweet and sad expression, her features were fine and her dark eyes still held a vitality that time could not crush.  
“Thank you Gunes, I do not know the language or understand the words, but I know it is a song of sadness of things past.”  
“It is about how youth is so short, it runs away and we need to take happiness now for there is not certainty in the future.”   
“So true Gunes, so true. I thought my life was determined the minute I walked into this household, but all was different from my youthful ideas. Life and nature have ways of hitting our weakest points.” She looked at her clasped hands thoughtfully and then lifted her head to stare at Elio.

“I was a lot like Vecihi once, thinking that I could in some way twist fate towards what I desired the most, but I was lucky in the end, even if I did not realize it. I had a husband that did respect me but did not desire me and no children to console me. I was locked in this wing of the place and knew that my husband desired someone else.”  
Elio did not know if he had to say anything to encourage her or keep silent; she was revealing so much of herself to him and he did not know the reason. 

“It pained me so much, but I had nothing to give my husband, so I sat hating. I sat behind this grate hating the days and especially the nights. And then, he died, my husband died and left all to his lover; the man I hated then saved me. He visited me and gave me freedom to be and do what I wanted. Altin Effendi has saved every one of us in this household, but I know that the death of Vecihi has hurt him. Who is going to save Altin Effendi Gunes?”  
The perfumes in the room were heavy and Elio felt his mind spin; save Altin? Such a man needed saving?   
He slowly twisted a tassel of the cushion he was sitting on, not daring to look up at the lady; but with an effort he looked up.  
The grill threw elaborate shadows across her face; her smile could be gauged by the wrinkling of her eyes.

“My lady, I was told once that you can save only those who want to be saved, and it is true. There were many I would have wanted to have, but I could not; I doubt I can help Altin Effendi.”  
“Gunes, I am sure you can help. Music soothes the beast’s heart, poetry opens the mind. Do not underestimate your potential!”  
She signed to him that he could leave and Elio deeply bowed before her; as he followed Selim back to the servant quarter he decided to talk to Ertan and see if he could in some way be of use to Altin.

Oliver just sat leaning against the library wall; he could not erase from his mind the vision of Vecihi’s pale face staring into nothingness.   
That beautiful face full of life stripped of emotions except fear; he wanted to remember the warm amber skin and the flash of anger always in his eyes, but he could not.   
A wave of sorrow mixed with guilt fell over him, “If only…” he thought, but could not continue, there was little he could have done except not being weak, and he knew, he was weak, all this situation was the result of being weak.

The door opened and Ertan entered, Elio was behind him, looking shy and unsure, the oud clasped tightly.   
“I really would like to be alone…” Oliver stopped, he actually wanted company, quiet company, if there were people in the room maybe ghosts would not torment him so.   
He stood up and nodded to Ertan, who smiled and moved to the writing table.   
Elio still stood shyly at the door and Oliver gestured for him to enter.  
As Elio sat in front of the writing desk, ready for his Turkish lessons, Ertan handed him a book “Read this aloud Gunes, we need beauty today.”

The volume of Petrarch’s poetry fell open to “Clear, sweet fresh water”.   
Elio started to read, his voice quietly following a rhythm of song “Her divine bearing / and her face, her speech, her sweet smile / captured me, and so separated me, from true though / that I would say, sighing: / ‘How did I come here, and when?’ / believing I was in heaven, not there where I was…”  
Oliver closed his eyes and let himself be lulled by the boy’s voice, by the sweet and sad poem; he felt calm and he could smell the scent of roses, as his memories slowly wove their way through a happier times.   
He could listen to Gunes reciting poetry for days on end.

A cautious knock on the door interrupted the soothing moment; Selim looked apologetic “Altin Effendi, there is a visitor…”  
The tall black man doesn’t let Selim finish, he pushes him aside and enters the room, his high white headdress almost touching the celling. His white crisp robes are almost blinding in the shadowy room.  
Oliver remains sitting, not bothering to greet the man, he looks up at him “I knew you would come, but it took longer than expected. So, what have you to say?” His voice was hard.  
“Our Lady has sent me to let you know that she is saddened about what has befallen your household; she has no hand in what happened. It is a warning to all of us.”   
The man just stood without moving, his voice had no emotion; he recited exactly what he had been told.  
Oliver nods “Tell your Lady that I have do not doubt her, I know too well where this warning came from. I shall deal with it in my own way; she can keep away from this. Our agreement has not been undone; you can reassure her of that.”  
The man nodded and left. 

Elio just looked at the spot where the man had stood. A warning, so it regarded the meeting on the barge, but who would kill just for a warning, and what did it mean?  
He looked at Oliver, at his stern expression, and wondered how he would deal with what had happened?  
He instinctively knew that he really did not want to know how Altin dealt with such situations.   
He closed the book; poetry was redundant now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elio sings “Quant’ e’ bella giovinezza che si fugge tuttavia” written by Lorenzo de’ Medici, the Magnificent, ruler of Florence. The poem is about Bacchus and Ariadne, how youth is short and to enjoy it. Youth was indeed short, his brother Giuliano, who probably was the Bacchus in the poem, was murdered in 1478.
> 
> Petrarch (1304-74) was an Italian poet and humanist. The Canzoniere are poems, mostly sonnets, dedicated to Laura, written over forty years, even after her death. They are early Italian, or vernacular. Fresh clear waters is one of his better known poem.


	10. The Genoese Merchant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver makes a decision that ends in disaster for Elio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating, but my laptop saga is getting worse, I have been overwhelmed with work and I have the usual writer’s block. But fear not, I have no intention of abandoning any of my fictions…  
> Thank you for your comments, helps to quell the self doubts..

As soon as the palace servant left the library, Elio and Ertan turned to look at Oliver.   
He ignored them and walked towards the door; he turned and said “You can start the Turkish lessons Gunes, not much use now, though.”  
Elio wondered what Altin had meant, but he knew it was impossible to understand him totally; he only caught glimpses of a man that did not add up to Altin Effendi.  
As Oliver crossed the courtyard he looked up at the sky; he had taken a decision, but why was it so hard? It was the only way to safeguard Gunes, and the boy was only someone he wanted to save, someone that did not have to go through all he had gone through.   
He sighed, if just these few months made it difficult, it was indeed the right decision, before he committed more mistakes borne of loneliness and weakness.  
Selim approached him “Altin Effendi, the Lady would like a word.” Oliver nodded; it was remiss of him not visiting her after all that had happened. 

He always felt guilt as he crossed into the harem side of the house; it was a place he avoided and the concept of it disgusted him.   
But when he inherited the house from Taner he knew he had to maintain what was there, if Munise desired so; and she did.  
As he entered the small reception room Munise smiled and gestured her servants to leave.   
“Altin, how are you?” There was real concern in her large dark eyes.   
Oliver remembered Taner describe them as doe’s eyes, and age had never dimmed the childish light in them.  
“My Lady, do not concern yourself about someone as unworthy, I am fine God willing.”  
“Altin, please do not be strong when you are allowed weakness, as you are here.”   
She patted her lap and Oliver silently sat down beside her and placed his head upon her lap and closed his eyes.  
“I know if you have saved one soul you have saved mankind, but you did not kill the young man, there is no blame Altin.”  
“I was weak Hanfendi Munise, my weakness brought him into danger. The last words I said to him hurt him, I cannot be pardoned for this.”  
The room was silent, both Oliver and the lady were still, feeling each other’s heartbeats; any words would have been useless.  
“What are you going to do now Altin my son?”  
Oliver looked at the carpet on the floor; he followed the intricate pattern unsure if he had tell the truth or what she wanted to hear.  
“I need to protect the weakest in the household; I am going to free Gunes and thinking of enrolling Mesut into the Janissaries.”  
“Are you sure that is what both of them want Altin? Have you asked them?” Her voice was perplexed, but there was a note of sternness that Oliver felt as a slap.  
He clenched his fists tightly, he could not be swayed, he needed to act.   
“Yes, it is the right decision Lady, they need to be protected by those stronger than I am.”  
“I accept your decisions Altin, you know I have always done so. But please do not rush, let those who are involved have a say. You might be surprised how much you are loved and respected.”

Mesut ran into Elio’s arms as soon as he entered the bedroom; “Gunes, please do not leave me.”  
His voice was muffled as his head was pressed into Elio’s chest; as he stroked the boy’s head Elio realised that in the few months he had been in the household he had forged strong relationships with the inhabitants, and Mesut was the strongest.  
“I will not leave you on my free will, if I do so it will not be my decision!”  
The boy nodded, he was aware that for people like them decisions were not something they could make, but Elio’s answer was enough for him.

When Altin called for him after lunch Elio was surprised, especially since Selim told him to wear warm clothes and put on his cape.  
“Gunes, I am taking you to your people” Altin sounded very tired and Elio was not quite sure what he meant.  
As they walked to the shore and took the ferry to the other side Oliver was silent and did not look at Elio.  
They finally arrived to a stone house with an outside staircase, similar to the houses that Elio knew in Italy; the ground floor was probably used for storage.   
A merchant’s house.  
A man came to greet them; he was portly with a large smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Altin Effendi, thank you for honouring my home!”   
They all sat at a large refectory table in a large but bare hall. “So this is the boy you wrote to me about.”   
The man eyed Elio with a knowing look that was uncomfortable.  
“Yes Messer Repetto, this is Elio Catalano, he was captured when the Doria fleet was defeated. He needs to return to Genoa and I know your ship is about to sail back to Genoa soon.”  
Elio looked up in surprise, back home? When had it been decided?   
“It is always a pleasure to help a compatriot Altin Effendi, so Elio where is your home?”  
Elio did not quite know how to respond, he did not have a home, the Cybo household would have been the logical answer, but was it a home? Apart from Giuliano who could he call friend or family?  
“The Cybo have been kind to employ me Messer” he replied, feeling it was an answer as good as any. The merchant nodded.  
Oliver stood up and turned to go. “Wait!” Elio shouted without thinking what he wanted to say.  
“Goodbye Gunes, you are now free and will return home.” Oliver looked at a spot behind Elio’s shoulder.  
“I wanted to say goodbye to Mesut and Ertan, Selim and the Lady. I cannot leave them like this!” He could hear the high pitch of his voice and tried to hold back the panic.  
“I will let them know that you thought of them. Thank you Messer Repetto for your help.” Without a further look Oliver left the room and Elio heard the large front door close. He was once more alone in an unknown place.

“So boy, you are the second most expensive slave sold in the market, you are indeed a pretty face.”  
Elio did not like the tone, but he automatically gave his shy smile and looked down; it had helped him many times in the past.   
“It was all Altin Effendi’s extravagance in helping me Messer, I am not worthy of such expense.”  
The man’s eyes narrowed as though he was calculating the value of an object.   
“There are many who are willing to pay such a price boy, and I am lucky enough to know who they are. I think you need to rest, let me show you your room.”   
He took Elio’s arm and almost dragged him to a small room with a straw mattress and a small barred window.  
As soon as he heard the door being locked Elio realised that he was trapped and that Altin had been deceived.   
He knew that Altin would not have betrayed him, he was sure of that as he was sure of the love his grandfather had for him. There was little else that he was sure of in his life.  
He threw himself onto the mattress and wondered what to do. The bars looked solid and he knew he was not physically strong. But he had to get away.   
He just lay thinking of the worse scenarios till he heard a tune being whistled outside. It was one of the songs he played on the oud to the household. Elio ran to the window and pulled himself up using the bars to see outside.   
Mesut was walking down the small alley whistling.  
“Mesut, I am here!” The boy turned and smiled.  
“Gunes, I wanted to say goodbye, I knew you would not have left me without!”  
“Mesut, Altin Effendi was tricked, I am a prisoner and they are not going to take me home, let him know!”   
Mesut looked up at him in surprise, and then his expression hardened and he ran away.  
Elio heard voices outside his cell and quickly jumped down and got back onto the mattress.  
He needed to gain time for Altin to be warned.  
“So the ship for Algiers is leaving at dawn, when do we take to boy onboard? He must not be seen.”  
“Now is a good time, it is dusk and it will not be suspicious walking to the port.”  
Elio realised that he did not have time.

As the left the house and walked the deserted streets, Repetto held Elio’s arm in a tight grip, a man walked in front of them and there were two behind; it would be impossible to get away.   
As they approached the port, Elio could see the tall masts of the ships and he knew his chance to get away was evaporating fast.   
“Keep calm, keep calm, fear of fear is the enemy.” Elio tried to breathe slowly; he needed to be quick to grasp any opportunity.  
A small group of children were playing by the dock, squabbling over something; one of them ran away from the group running towards Elio and his captors.   
Elio turned to look at him, and as the child turned away from the group, he thought he heard him whisper “Mesut”.   
He tensed.  
The other children started to throw stones, supposedly towards the running child, but hitting the group of men; Repetto automatically let go of Elio’s arm to cover his head and Elio ran.  
He ran without turning to look if he was being followed, he ran towards the buildings away from the port.  
He did not know or care where he was headed; he needed to get away from the men.  
When he stopped he hid behind a large barrel in a small alley; he did not know where he was or how he could get back to Altin.   
He was lost in a large city he did not know and was full of dangers.   
But he was sure Altin and Mesut would find him, he just needed to hide and be careful; it was dark now, and, if he could last till dawn, he knew he would be safe.  
He edged along the alley as quietly as he could wondering if there was a place for him to hide when he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
“What are you doing here boy?”


	11. A Foreign Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio is trapped, but not alone. Oliver regrets his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long pause, but still coping with laptop problems, writing block and family matters. I have not forgotten the boys, and they are back!!

“What are you doing here, boy?”  
The hand on Elio’s shoulder tightened its hold as he instinctively tried to run.   
He recognised the voice, the strange accent it had in speaking Turkish; Elio turned to look at the man holding him. It was too dark to see the face, but the looming height, almost as high as Altin, told him who he was.  
William, the man who came to visit Altin some time ago; a probable friend who spoke in an unknown language.  
“Are you a runaway slave?” The tone was not angry and Elio slightly relaxed.   
“The Genoese merchants tricked Altin Effendi, they are not taking me back home as they promised, but selling me in the Algiers market!”   
The words tumbled and were so fast William was not sure he understood.   
The man looked puzzled, but as soon as they heard voices nearing, they both stood still.

“Where is the damned boy? Search for him, he must not escape!”   
Elio shuddered, they would find him and take him away, he could not trust this foreigner to help him.  
The hand on his shoulder moved slightly, but the tall man did not say a word, he stood still, but Elio could sense he was alert, ready. Ready for what action he did not know, but ready nonetheless.  
Footsteps approached the entrance to the alley, passed it, Elio relaxed.  
“Stop fool, have you checked that passage?” The voice was irritated. The group of men turned and entered the dark alley, covering the light from the moon.   
Elio fought the temptation to run; there was nowhere to run.  
A torch was brought and filled the dark space with a flickering orange light; Elio and the tall foreigner were trapped.

“Hand over the boy Essexio, he is ours!” Repetto once more smiled with a large grin that did not reach the eyes, the light flickered and cast shadows.   
The tall man patted Elio’s shoulder “I never thought you also liked boys Messer Giovanni, it seems that this city is indeed a den of iniquity.”   
There was a tone of light mockery that was clear even in the extremely heavy accented Italian he spoke.   
“I am not as your friend Altin; we are talking about goods, valuable goods.” 

“As an English man born free I do find the idea of men enslaved distasteful, but each to their own I suppose.”   
Elio felt the last shred of hope dissolve and almost slumped; but then he felt the man tense slightly, his body moving casually in front of Elio, his hand just resting on Elio’s shoulder.  
“I suppose Altin is looking for the boy as well, shall we wait for him to join us, or are you in a hurry?”  
There was open mockery now and the Genoese flinched.  
“There is no need to disturb your friend Essexio, we can be reasonable men, hand over the boy and we will be all on our ways without problems” Repetto licked his lips.

“I can wait, I am in no hurry, or we can all go to Altin’s home and resolve it amicably.”   
William’s right hand rested on the hilt of his rapier hanging at his waist; a casual natural movement that was not lost on the other men.  
“Essexio you fool, there are six of us and you are alone! What do you think you can do?”   
As the group of men moved forward, William smoothly pushed Elio further back, “Hide behind the barrel, do not fear.”   
As the men moved in the narrow alley, they realised that there was barely room for one, and, that they only had daggers, while William unsheathed his rapier.   
They stopped, all was still and silent.

“Not such a good idea, was it? Go home Genoese, Altin is on his way, you do not want him to find you all… You do not stand a chance of keeping your lives against a knight.”  
Hearing him, the men felt a sense of urgency and surged forward; William quickly pierced the shoulder of the first and moved the rapier down to slash the hand holding the dagger of the second man, as they moved back screaming in pain, they blocked the advance of the others.   
It was difficult to pass the wounded men; Elio peeked from behind the barrel, he was starting to feel hopeful.  
Light was slowly breaking, the flame of the torch was dimming, the long night was ending.

\-----

Oliver did not expect that feeling of emptiness as he returned home; everything was as normal, but Gunes was not there.  
“I did the right thing; he needs to be home safe, away from the dangers here. I need to have him safe away from me.” If he kept repeting the thought he might start to believe it.  
As he got undressed he knew that sleep would not arrive, and if by the will of the Lord, he did manage a few hours, the nightmares would return.   
And probably those green eyes would not be there to save him.   
He put his clothes back on and went to the library; he could do something useful this long night. At dawn Repetto’s ship would set sail and that should end all feelings of unease.

Petrarch’s volume of poems was on the table, just as Gunes had left it. Oliver picked it up and slowly caressed the parchment as he turned the pages.

Yet it is true that your soft gentle smile   
Quietens my ardent desires,  
And saves me from the fire of suffering,  
While I am intent and fixed on gazing.  
But then my spirits are chilled, when I see,  
At your departure, my fatal stars  
Turn their sweet aspect from me.  
Released at last by those loving keys,  
The spirit leaves the heart to follow you,  
And in deep thought, walks on from there.

Oliver just stood looking at the words, he was not reading them, they simply had transferred themselves from the page into his soul.  
He was not sure how long he had been standing; it was dark outside, all was quiet in the household and in the streets outside. The moon was high and bold, silver light filled the courtyard that seemed so empty and cold.   
Oliver walked back to his room with a determined stride; as he collected his cape he hoped he was still in time.

Suddenly there was a voice shouting at the door “Altin Effendi, hurry, they are going to sell Gunes! They are taking him to Algiers!” Mesut’s voice was frantic, shouting to be heard.  
As Oliver unbolted the door the boy ran into the house “We need to help him, wake everybody up, we need to hurry!”  
Oliver grabbed him “Calm down, tell me what is going on!”   
As the household stirred, Mesut told Oliver of Repetto’s plans. As he finished he looked up and was scared of Altin's dark expression.

\----

“So Repetto, you are a man of less honour than I thought!” Altin’s voice filled the alley. William laughed.  
“Altin Effendi, this man of Albion took the boy and we are trying to liberate him… “ Repetto’s voice was so high in tone it was almost a squawk.   
“I should kill you all as the vermin you all are!” Oliver moved forward but he was stopped.  
“Effendi I understand your rage, but we really do not need to cause problems at the moment.”   
Elio could not see Selim, but his voice seemed to be the only calm thing in the huddle of people struggling within the confines of the narrow space.   
The Genoese were trapped; William held them at bay with his rapier, Oliver was blocking their escape.  
“Let them go Altin Effendi, please, I cannot… No more blood, not because of me, please!”  
The imploration took the last energy Elio had, the relief of knowing he was now safe was so overwhelming he slumped against the barrel and slid to the ground.

Elio felt he was floating, the cool air woke him and he realised that it was not a dream; when he saw that he was in the arms of Altin he struggled.  
“Stop moving, you are heavier than you look.” Elio looked up and saw in the man’s eyes such sadness and regret, the blue had darkened to a purple, that contrasted with the light tone of his voice.   
Without thinking he reached up and stroked the man’s cheek.   
“I am sorry to cause you so many problems Altin Effendi; thank you for coming and saving me, as well as your friend.”   
Oliver tightened his grip on Elio, almost fusing the two of them into one.  
“I am the one that needs to ask for forgiveness Gunes, I acted on impulse on what I thought was good for me, not you. I am sorry, I know that I need you next to me, accept my selfishness.”  
Elio smiled, dawn was breaking over the city and there was the smell of spring in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is part of Petrarch’s Bitter Tears Pour Down My Face.  
> Next time Elio and Oliver will make travel plans...


End file.
